How It Feels to Burn
by Letmehavemymoment
Summary: Thirty years spent tortured on the rack, ten years working it. Dean suffers from the aftermath of forty years in hell. A righteous man, Dean Winchester, shed blood in hell breaking the first seal and starting the chaos that persues.
1. Oh, How It Hurts

**Mentions of Hell.**

Sometimes Dean Winchester can still feel, smell, even taste hell. It's like a stain on his shirt that won't wash out no matter how hard he tries. Hell catches up, making him vulnerable, stripping him down, and destroying his defense while exposing him of what he is, a righteous man who couldn't take the heat. He can't always feel it, sometimes it's just the smell. The scent of burning flesh and warm, metallic, blood fills his nostrils. The sour taste of bile and sick consumes his tastebuds. More often than not, this results in an agonizing trip to the bathroom or a hasty lunge to the nearest trashcan. This is nothing compared to when he can physically feel it. When he can feel it, it's like he never left. The pain he experiences is that of being on the rack. He feels his skin being torn away from muscle and bone, the boiling hot temperature that melts his skin, as a flame does wax.

For thirty-years it was Dean suspended from the hooks on the rack, getting butchered like a dead animal. Thirty years of nothing, but continuous pain and hallucinations. Often he'd see his brother, sometimes father, laughing before the loved one would gouge his eyes out or do some other unspeakable act. As if it couldn't possibly get worse, sometimes it's not himself he sees on the rack; instead, it's some other helpless soul; tainted by the sins committed while they lived. He can feel the give of their flesh as he plunges the knife into their abdomens. Dean can remember how he unapologetically tore them into pieces until they were nothing, simply to repeat it all. Guilt gnaws away at Dean. His weakness making him bow his head in shame. A righteous man shed blood in hell, Dean, breaking the first seal and started the chaos. _Thirty-years of torture and I could just hang on for ten more, pathetic._

He tells himself anyone would have taken the deal to work the rack especially after thirty years of non-stop pain, but deep down he knows his father would never. _Dad would be disgusted by you. You're a complete failure, a miserable joke. He died so you could continue the job, and this is what you do? You're no better than anything you've hunted. Marry is ashamed. _It plays through his mind on repeat.

Dean is completely helpless when this happens. During particularly bad episodes his legs grow unstable and fall to his knees, all while emitting a blood-curdling scream for Sam as the pain consumes his every thought. Miraculously, Dean has been successful in hiding the severity from Sam. Somehow, his brother has always missed it. It's no surprise, he isn't around Dean as often as he'd once been. Lately, they're only together to hunt and they'll occasionally sleep in the same motel room when Ruby is too busy or Sam is too exhausted or guilty to sneak away.

He keeps quiet, letting the fever rage on inside his skull, wreaking havoc. Sam knows something is wrong, he can see the flushed skin and sweat running from his brother's face as he watches Dean cry out during his nightmares. Oh, god and he can hear the screaming. The terrifying screech of a doomed man. Sam can hear him getting sick in the bathroom despite the sink running. He can see the weight drop off his brother as he refuses to finish his meals. He has an idea of what's eating his brother from the inside out, but it's not that simple. Dean had been in hell and experienced unthinkable torment. All they know is an angel, Castiel, drug his soul out of the depths of hell and returned it to his corpse that lied in a pine box, shallowly buried. The only scar remaining on his once well-worn body is the angel's handprint burned into his arm. Apparently, he was brought back for a higher purpose, but he's not sure. Things are so different now. Sam sneaks around with a demon, Rudy. He does this thinking it's happening right under Dean's nose, but Dean is smarter than he thinks. Before, Dean was ripped apart by the hellhounds he had faith that his brother would drop her evil ass.

* * *

"Dean, get out of the way," Sam bellows, attempting to command his brother into safety.

Dean turns his head, looking straight through his brother. His fevered eyes stare unfocused and hazed. Barely comprehending his brother's words, he stumbles to obey the order. His skin is on fire, for a second he fears he's fallen into the burning grave, but he quickly abandons that theory when his knees hit the dewy grass.

"Dean!" Suddenly, Sam is running full force towards him. Everything is wrong, this hunt has gone way beyond sideways. The remains are on fire, but the ghost isn't disappearing. Recently he's been slacking on the research to spend more time with Ruby; obviously, it shows. "Hey hey, man." Sam is standing at his brother's side, placing a gentle hand on his brother's back.

"Get off me," Dean cries, flenching away from the touch. He screams out in agony, his back burning in response to the tender touch. Immediately, Sam retracts his hand, guilt now mingling with concern.

"Shit, Dean I'm sorry," Sam whispers kneeling beside him. "We have to get out of here. I fucked up. Can you stand up for me?"

Dean's skin begins to cool, as the red film leaves his vision. He nods before attempting to pull himself onto his feet. Sam hovers closely, wanting to help but is too afraid he'll hurt him again. Reluctantly, Sam stands with his hands at his side, watching as his brother fails and falls backward into the grass, this time laying on his back in defeat.

Sam hears the whirl of the unknown spirit appearing behind him; without a second thought, he grabs his brother's discarded shotgun and swings around, shooting a round of rock salt into its chest. The spirt dematerializes and is gone, for now.

"I'm sorry, man, but we have to go now." Sam grabs his brother under the arms and begins pulling him up, ignoring the gasps and whimpers of protest. Dean's feet catch underneath him and Sam slowly retracts his assistance once he is completely on his feet and somewhat stable.

* * *

It's a short guilt-filled ride back to the motel room. Dean willingly allowed his brother to drive, unsure of his ability to focus. Sam was more than a little shocked when Dean threw the keys to him. On a normal day, Sam would have practically had to wrestle the keys out of his hands.

When they pull up to the motel it's only around eleven P.M. Sam briefly considers ditching his brother for the rest of the night. He changes his mind when he looks to his left and sees Dean grabbing the roof of the Impala for support as he exits the vehicle.

Dean has managed to stumble his way to the door before Sam has even opened his. He quickly climbs out and joins his brother. Dean frantically fills his pocket for the motel key.

Reaching into his front pants pocket, Sam pulls it out. Holding it up he says, "I've got it."

"So you were just going to stand there while I search like an idiot?"

"No, Dean just move so I can open it."

He throws his arms up in defeat as he moves away, allowing Sam to open the door.

Once inside, Dean immediately slumps face-first into his bed, laying unmoving. Sam stares down at his brother's form.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer Bitch," Dean announces, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Whatever, Jerk." Sam moves past his brother's bed and leans against the wall. _I don't know how to ask_, he thinks. Sam wants so badly to ask his brother about what happened back at the graveyard. It scared the shit out of him. A couple of minutes past and neither man moves. The room remains completely silent.

Sam clears his throat. His stomach rolls with the familiar pang of hunger. He uses his back to push himself away from the wall. Grabbing his jacket from the little dining table he speaks, "I'm going to go get us food. You know what you want?"

"Hmmm," Dean replies sleepily.

"Food, Dean, what do you want?" Frustration creeps into Sam's voice.

Rolling over Dean replies, "Doesn't matter, whatever you want, no rabbit food though." Feeling pleased with himself, he smiles for the first time that night.

"So an artery-clogging burger got it. Oh Uh, when I get back I want to talk." Leaving his brother no time to answer, he darts out the door.

* * *

Dean stays in the same position on the mattress for several minutes, before finally sitting up. _Sam will probably be a while. Food was probably just a new excuse to leave and see the demon bitch, _He thinks. Dean finds it difficult to even fathom his brother double-crossing him like that. Dean hates the feeling of loneliness. It never bothered him until Sam left for Standford. Since then, it's felt like Dean's life was crumbling around him and he's just standing in the rubble with his life in shambles. _Sam wants to talk when he gets back. That's just great._ He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Shower," He says aloud, maneuvering himself to the edge of the bed.

Halfway through his shower, it hits him. He smells something burning. Quickly he turns the water off, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his waist he runs out of the motel room. Standing in the parking lot he looks for the source, but there's nothing. No flame no smoke, everything is normal. He shakes his head in disbelief as the scent grows stronger. Defeatedly, the chill of night nips at his exposed flesh. Out of nowhere, he's gaging the smell becoming unbearable. Before he has time to comprehend his actions, he's running back inside hunching over the toilet, expelling nothing but acid. Sweat forms around the edges of his hairline, threatening to roll down his face.

* * *

Sam was only gone for a total of about forty minutes. He had no intention of seeing Ruby as his brother may have thought. Casually, he turns the Impala into the parking lot of the motel. Putting the vehicle in park, he notices that their door is standing wide open. Frantically, he lunges out of the Impala, walking with quick strides he enters the room looking around cautiously. Nothing seems to be out of place, besides his brother's form kneeling over the toilet, the bathroom door open. Noting the lack of danger he locks the door, before crossing the room towards his brother.

"Dean! What's going on? The door was open." Sam moves to Dean's side, cringing as he hears his brother gag.

"Thought something was burning, Ran outside, got sick," Dean gasps out.

"Burning? Nothings burning, Dean. Hey, you alright?"

"No shit. Yeah, I'm fine," He says as he flushes the toilet. "A little privacy man." Dean gestures to his towel.

"Oh, sorry I'll let you get dressed," He quickly turns to leave.

While waiting for Dean to dress and exit the bathroom, Sam goes out to Impala to retrieve the food. The smell of burning has left just a quickly as it started. Calming down, Dean feels hungry for the first time that day. _It's all in your head, man. _He tells himself. Dean dresses hastily and washes his mouth out before leaving the bathroom.

* * *

They sit in awkward silence as they eat their meals. Both men have a lot to say but fear the answers or questions they might receive in response.

"So uh, about the hunt. What are we dealing with." Dean asks between mouthfuls.

"I don't know who it is. I thought it was Maddy Winston, some rich man's daughter, but we burned her and the ghost I saw was a man."

"Her dad, maybe?"

"I don't think so, records don't detail anything that would lead him to be a vengeful spirit."

"Well, how'd Maddy die?"

"Husband drowned her in a lake," He states casually.

Dean nods his head swallowing his food. "You said before the hunt that the spirit went after unfaithful married women. Most of them had children, right."

"All of the victims had children." Sam shrugs.

"And the victim's bodies are found drenched."

"Wait, so you think it's the husband?"

"Yeah, I mean it seems pretty solid. She probably cheated on her husband and now in death, he continues to seek vengeance."

"I'll do some research tomorrow, see if I can get his name."

Dean remains quiet, finishing his meal.

"So, What happened at the graveyard and before I got back," Sam asks already feeling the tension in the room rising.

"I"m just a little tired is all, yeah know? Just need a little rest." Dean's voice is calm and the words flow out easily.

"You said you thought the room was on fire?"

"Yeah, stupid mistake. I smelled something burning, thought it was the room." Sam opens his mouth to question his brother, but Dean speaks before he can. "I'm heading to bed, don't stay up too long nerd boy, you have research to do tomorrow."

Sam learns back in his chair feeling defeated. Sighing, he starts to tidy up his and Dean's food mess before getting ready for bed.

**I hope you enjoy this new story. I figure I'll do a couple of chapters of this before wrapping it up. If you like this, please favorite and follow. It means the world to me when you do.**


	2. Temperatures Rising

It was early morning when Sam was woken up by an unexpected but familiar-sounding cry, almost shriek. Impulsively, he located his gun, seizing it off the bedside table that occupies the space separating the two beds. While maintaining his calm composer, he carefully twitched on the bedside table lamp. With the dim light illuminating the room, Sam can see no discernible threat.

With the immediate relief diminishing, he sets his gun down onto the table where it was previously. "Dean, you hear that?"

Sam receives no response. Dean was a notoriously light sleeper, waking up at the drop of a hat. Naturally, Sam experiences slight anxiety; he'd assumed the noise or the light from the lamp would have startled his brother into wakefulness. He could only pray Dean was finally getting the sleep he desperately needs.

Reluctantly, Sam turns the lamp off before laying back into his bed. He gradually begins to drift back off into a restless sleep, Dean still on his mind. With sleep seconds away from ensuing, he hears the cry again only this time it's louder. Sam jumps up into a seated position with his feet on the floor. Leaning over, he switches on the lamp. The second time he hears the noise, he can distinctly tell it was coming from the bed next to him.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam stays seated for about thirty seconds hoping for a response before getting to his feet. In the dim light, he can see his brother's body stiffly resting in a fetal position. Holding his breath, he reaches out to touch his brother's shoulder giving it a light shake. Dean's skin is burning under his touch. Instantly, he pulls his hand away as if the touch left a burn on the palm of his hand.

"Your fucking burning up, what's going on here," Sam questions out loud knowing he wouldn't receive a response. Briefly, Sam considers calling an ambulance but changes his mind when he thinks about how angry it would make his brother. Their relationship was already on the rocks, and Sam wasn't about to risk making it worse when he hadn't even tried to take care of it himself.

"I'm going to cool you down." He places a trembling hand on his brother's forehead.

* * *

"You do not get to do this to me, Dean," Sam says sternly before hesitantly removing his hand. Sam turns into the direction of the bathroom before rushing to the door. Harshly, he swings the door open, causing it to hit the wall. He blindly reaches out for the light switch, turning it on with little thought. Straight away, Sam opens the cold water bathtub faucet. Frigid water begins flowing into the porcelain tub, with some escaping down the drain.

"Plug," Sam thinks out loud, looking around frantically. "Useless piece of rubber," he mumbles to himself as he continues his search. The bathroom is small, only consisting of a toilet, standing sink, mirror, and a shower-tub combo. With little decore or personal items littering the space, you'd think it'd be easy to find. Hell, the motel room didn't even have a linen closet. _Just plug the drain, Sammy. It's not that hard. _He hears his brother's gruff voice in the back of his head. "Not that hard," Sam repeats, as he removes his socks, shoving them into the drain. He briefly stares down into the water, watching the drainage pipe. The water appears to be collecting into the tub rather than slipping down the drain.

As he allows the bath to fill, Sam returns to his brother. If his memory serves him correct, Dean hasn't moved an inch since he last saw him a couple of minutes ago. Panic is slowly descending into the pit of Sam's stomach but slightly lessens with the rise and fall of his brother's chest. Since the second cry, Sam hasn't heard his brother make a sound. "I know I should add ice, but I need to get you cooled off right now. You understand if this doesn't work, I'm calling an ambulance. I just got you back. I can't endure that shit again." Sam proceeds to ramble on as he begins lifting his brother like he's a newlywed carrying his bride over the threshold.

Overestimating the strength required to lift to his brother, Sam stumbles backward, correcting his footing before he could fall. Hell, has left more of a physical toll than Sam first thought. Dean had never been a large man, in terms of body fat percentage, he was always broad with muscles. It comes as a complete shock when Sam feels the slight outline of his brother's ribs. He's noticed the bit of extra bagginess of his brother's clothes but didn't think much of it.

Gently, Sam lower's his brother into the bathtub, the frigid water immersing his body like a blanket. Dean lays perfectly still in the water, his head lolling lazily to the side.

* * *

The war raging on inside Dean Winchester's head wasn't something that he could easily win. Hell still had an invisible hold over him, waiting for the most inopportune moments to strike him down. Dean felt his body ignite into hot destructive flames as he lay still, opening his eyes he's suddenly back. Back in hell, chained up, hooks tearing into his shoulders, legs, back, seemingly everywhere. The pain would be enough to make any mortal lose consciousness almost instantly. Unfortunately, such a luxury of sleep doesn't exist in hell.

Dean struggles against his restraints, causing the massive hooks to pull and stretch at his delicate skin. His flesh begins to blacken as it continues to burn into nothing but ash. Black smoke surrounds him, filling his lungs with its thick toxins.

"No," He screams through the coughing and pain. "I'm not supposed to be here!" Dean allows his head to fall forward, his chin resting on his chest. He concedes tears to slip through his tightly sealed eyes. "I'm not supposed to be here anymore!"

"Is that right, Dean." He hears his father's calm voice in his ear. Dean cannot help but flinch jerking his head to the side, his eyes remaining closed. "You don't think you belong here? You're a traitor, Dean. What would little Sammy think if he knew what you did?" The voice's tone grows more condescending.

"Please, stop!" Dean pleads. "I'm sorry, Dad." He cries out.

"Open your eyes, Dean," His father's voice growls. "Face me like the man you claim to be."

"Shut up," Dean shrieks out, opening his eyes, ready to face his father.

* * *

Dean's eyes pop open in an exaggerated expression before almost immediately clamping shut again, as the bright fluorescent light stings his sensitive eyes. His body no longer feels scorched. The burning sensation; now being replaced by the bone-chilling bite of freezing. Gasping, he struggles to escape the frigid temperatures. As he jerks around, blindly, he can hear splashing like water smacking linoleum. _Water, _Dean ponders. _Wet and cold. No freezing. A lake, I'm in a lake, maybe. No, my head would be under the water, I'd be drowning. Sammy! Sam would know. Find Sam._

As his body begins going infinitely numb, Dean slows his efforts to escape. Lazily, he allows himself to relax; as he attempts to open his eyes. The light hurts, but he persevers. Worried eyes search the room; that Dean has now identified as the motel bathroom, looking for Sam.

"Sam," A coarse voice murmurs out.

Sam's head pocks into the bathroom almost instantly. He holds a phone in his trembling hands.

"Thank god, I was just about to call an ambulance." Sam walks over, dropping to his knees next to the bathtub, spilled water soaking into the fabric of his pajama pants. "Let me get you out of here, buddy." Sam stands up, water pooled at his feet.

"C-cold," Dean states through chattering teeth.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Buddy, I'm sorry." Sam reaches into the tub, grabbing his brother under the arm's, heaving him out of the water and onto the floor.

* * *

After toweling his brother off and forcing him into new dry clothes, it was almost as if nothing had happened. The fever had vanished altogether. When Sam found his brother, he was under the impression that Dean was ill, but it seems almost too obvious something else was going on. Once, Dean was warmed up and thoroughly examined: they both returned to bed. The whole ordeal occurred within an hour, leaving both brothers exhausted.

* * *

Hesitantly, Dean crawls his way out of bed, making his way to kitchenette. Needing relief from the pressure building inside his head, he rummages through the area for mild pain medication. Locating the pills, he pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot that his brother had previously made minutes before he stumbled out of bed.

"How you feeling," Sam says between mouthfuls of coffee.

"Good, fever hasn't come back."

"It just doesn't make any sense, Dean. Last night I thought your brain was going to fry, and now you're perfectly fine?"

"You cooled me down," Dean states shortly, shrugging his shoulders.

"That doesn't explain why you had it to begin with." Sam sets his coffee on the end table then stretches his long arms over his head, yawning as he does so.

Dean takes his cup and bottle of ibuprofen with him, sitting them onto the kitchen table, he adjusts himself in a dining chair. "Whatever man, It's probably fine. Plus, we have more pressing matters here," He pops three pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry before continuing. "You haven't forgotten about the case or Lillith, lucifer? The list goes on. Stop fretting over me."

"You're upset with me for being concerned? Maybe if you'd stop keeping secrets, I wouldn't have to fret, Dean," Sam growls out.

Dean feels his face begin to redden, with the risen anger boiling inside him.

"Secrets, You want to talk about secrets," He booms. "Fine, how about we start with yours."

"Mine? What are you talking about?" Sam recoils defensively.

Dean throws his hands up. "I'm just saying, I'm not the one sneaking out while I think my brother's asleep. I'm not hiding in the bathroom, whispering into my phone, talking to that demon bitch, Rudy."

"I-" Sam starts to speak before getting cut off.

"Save it, Sam." Dean rubs at his temples. "Get dressed; we have research to do." With that, he stands, abandoning his coffee on the table, Dean roughly seizes his duffle bag, swinging it onto his shoulder before storming off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bang! Sam flinches at the sound, feeling stunned he stays in the same position.

**Thank you for reading! If you don't mind and you enjoy the story, please follow, favorite, and leave a comment explaining your thoughts. Feel free to leave suggestions. **


	3. Locked out

**Last Chapter**

"You're upset with me for being concerned? Maybe if you'd stop keeping secrets, I wouldn't have to fret, Dean," Sam growls out.

Dean feels his face begin to redden, with the risen anger boiling inside him. "Secrets, You want to talk about secrets," He booms. "Fine, how about we start with yours."

"Mine? What are you talking about?" Sam recoils defensively.

Dean throws his hands up. "I'm just saying, I'm not the one sneaking out while I think my brother's asleep. I'm not hiding in the bathroom, whispering into my phone, talking to that demon bitch, Rudy."

"I-" Sam starts to speak before getting cut off.

"Save it, Sam." Dean rubs at his temples. "Get dressed; we have research to do." With that, he stands, abandoning his coffee on the table, Dean roughly seizes his duffle bag, swinging it onto his shoulder before storming off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bang! Sam flinches at the sound, feeling stunned he stays in the same position.

* * *

**This Chapter**

Dean barges into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him with all the force he could muster. With immature defiance, Dean locks the bathroom door with a soft; but audible click. He wasn't worried about privacy, never was. Dean only wanted to hurt his brother by showing a physical demonstration of Dean locking Sam out.

First, Dean turns on the shower provoking hot water to spray from the showerhead. Stumbling over to the mirror, he anxiously considers his complexion. Picking his right hand up, he rubs it over his aging face. His hand tugs carelessly at the firm skin. Dean stops when he feels the overgrown stubble, on his chin, pricking at the calloused palm.

Dropping his hand back down to the sink, he stops to examine his face as a whole. As he gazes at himself through the mirror, he feels disconnected as if he's looking at someone else: someone older, thinner, generally unhealthy, and unkempt. _W__ho is this imperfect imposter? _He thinks feebly. It was as if the man staring back at him was wearing a mask, a Dean Winchester costume. Since when did he look so old? Dean was only gone for four months but was unable to age on account of quite literally being dead. The toll of death, the impending promise of the apocalypse, the ungodly pressure thrust upon his shoulders to mend his fading relationship with Sam, all contributing to his declining appearance.

Looking into his own eyes through the mirror, Dean feels a twinge of disgust. The once bright and lively green eyes have lost their spark. The eyes staring back at his, look dark, dull, and dead, without the usual twinkle. The mirror expressed what he felt inside. The agony he feels inside his head, oozing out like a bleeding wound, spilling onto his face, staining his expression, permanently leaving the dreaded scowl. It seems that the days of a smiling happy Dean were gone. The tongue biting toothy grin was a thing of the past. Now, it appears, he can only manage the bad-tempered, pissy, forehead wrinkling scowl.

Dean pulls himself away from the sink and mirror, shaking his head slowly. He closes his eyes tightly, no longer wanted to see the Dean impostor. Even with his eyes closed, Dean can still see the cold green-eyed gaze. _Shower before you waste all the hot water, idiot. _In one swift motion, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and off his arms, dropping it lazily onto the floor. Dean wastes no time shimming out of his flannel pajama pants and debatably clean boxers.

* * *

Gentle, warm water cascading down his vulnerable frame eventually turned into a cold, uncomfortable punishment. Dean continued to stand under the steady stream of water, even after it grew unbearably cold. His breath came in gasps while his body desperately tried to jerk away from the cold, but Dean stayed firmly planted under the stream. There Dean stood naked and shivering, knowing at any moment, he could turn the water off and begin the process of warming himself up. Dean has the power in the situation, unlike hell, he's the one in control.

Standing with his mouth open, he allows the water to flow in and out of his mouth as he stares at the shower wall. Two solid knocks rang out inside the small bathroom.

"Dean, you okay?"

Dean spits out a small amount of water that's collected in his mouth, before turning his head in the direction of the voice. Instead of answering, he stills, continuing to stand in the frigid stream.

"Hey! Answer me, Dean, or I'm coming in. You've been in there long enough."

Sam remains silent, patiently waiting for his brother to respond. It didn't take long for every ounce of patience to diminish, leaving Sam frustrated. "I'm coming in," Sam announces as he grabs the doorknob, venturing to open the door. The knob turns then abruptly stops. He aggressively jiggles the doorknob.

Sam couldn't help but feel a surge of hopelessness. What if Dean had another one of those strange episodes, passed out hit his head and is currently bleeding out? What if Sam was too caught up in his self-loathing to hear?

"Dean, you've got to be fucking kidding me. I'll beat this fucking door down." Sam's fist connects with the wooden door creating a solid thud. "Just answer me, so I know you're okay."

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean gasps as he scrambled to turn off the water with trembling hands. Stiff fingers reach out to grab the clean white towel, waiting patiently to be used, discarded carelessly, hanging over the sink.

Sam sighs of relief when he can no longer hear the shower.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam calls out from behind the locked door.

"P-peachy," Dean's trembling voice barks. "B-be out in an mm-minute." Dean loosely wraps the towel around his waist, taking comfort in the little warmth it provides. Positioning himself back in front of the mirror, Dean cautiously avoids making eye contact with himself in the mirror as he reaches into his bag, pulling out his electric razor.

"Just let me shave and get dressed, then we'll go," Dean says confidently, as he regains control over his voice.

* * *

Sam sat anxiously on the edge of his bed, purposely facing the bathroom door. As the buzz of the razor rambled on, he could feel himself become more and more frustrated by the minute.

Finally, he heard the sharp pop of the razors switch being clicked off, followed by what felt like hours of shuffling, but was only minutes in reality. It wasn't long after the shuffling stopped that a fully dressed Dean Winchester appeared at the bathroom door, undoing the lock and casually making his way into the middle of the room. He could feel Sam's wide worried filled eyes watching his every move, but chose to keep his mouth shut about it.

Sam examined his brother from afar. Dean's face looked a little more Dean like on account of the shave. However, that wasn't enough to distract Sam from the oddly pale skin and the slight tremor of his brother's body. It was apparent something was troubling Dean, and Sam was determined to find out. He wasn't going to stop until Dean had his spark back; until he felt alive again.

"Come on," Dean says shortly, as he makes his way to the motel door, opening it slowly. "We have actual work to do, lives to save."

"Yeah, but first we have to figure out who the boyfriend is before we can go about saving the lives." Sam swallows thickly, staring at the back of Dean's head as he stands up to follow him out.

"I'm not just talking about the case, Sam. We're the guys that have to stop the end of the world," Dean mumbles sullenly before walking out the door with quick strides.

Sam silently nods his head in agreement, an unexplainable ill-feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. Huffing a low sigh, he follows Dean out the door, locking it from the outside, before catching up with his brother near the Impala.

* * *

The ride to the library was silent. Dean didn't bother to turn on the radio and made it very clear he wasn't up to conversate. Sam tried to make conversation, sticking to easy topics, such as the case, but Dean shut him down just as soon as he started by simply not acknowledging him.

Parking haphazardly in the small parking lot, Dean turns the ignition off, hurridly swinging the door open and passive-aggressively storming out before slamming the door with Sam still inside. Sam finches at the sound then flys out in a rush to catch up to his brother.

"Dude, wait up." Sam trails behind his brother only to get the library door shut in his face. Slamming to a halt, Sam narrowly escapes smashing his face into the glass door. Feeling frustrated, he opens the door for himself and cautiously walks in, ready to kill his brother.

Dean walks over to the large table, taking a seat and propping his feet up on the chair in front of him.

"Get to work, Sammy," Comes a demanding growl.

Sam opens his mouth about to explode until he looks at his brother's face. Dean's cheeks are flushed, contrasting drastically with his abnormally pale complexion. Sam watches his brother's chest heave in a forced demeanor before alarmingly deflating at warp speed. It looks as if he's going to pass out at any given moment. In an instant, Sam's frustration has melted away, turning into urgent concern. It was only last night that he found Dean passed out, red-faced, sweaty, and unresponsive. Dean's body appears to hang limp in the chair; his eyes remain wide open. Wide-open with a milky white film covering the green iris.

"Dean," Sam's yell booms out.

**I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to write another chapter. I've been unusually busy lately, and though I wish I could prioritize writing, I cannot. Thank you so much for the continued support while I was away. I'm going to try my best to work more efficiently. Please continue to follow, favorite, and comment. It'd mean the world to me!**


End file.
